Are You Trying To Mug Me Off in Front of my Pals??!!

So it’s been a little while since we’ve covered good old fashioned football hooliganism, mainly because there has been a real lack of decent action in the press of late. However, do not fear that as a country we are softening, rather instead that the media big-wigs just have more pressing crusades at the moment. Everyone that had ever even heard of Baby P before he died should be considered public property and available for mass lynching and general torture by the way; in fact, why don’t we all just meet up with burning stakes this Saturday and go door-to-door in Haringey? Anyway, according to figures announced today by the Home Office, there were an impressive 3,842 arrests made for football-related violence at domestic and international matches last season in England and Wales. For all you mathematics heads out there, that’s 1.21 arrests per game. Sometimes my heart just swells with national pride.

More importantly though, the figures also revealed how many court orders were dished out to individual club’s fans, and I bet you won’t be able to guess the top three. Ok, being facetious doesn’t really work over the internet, so here are the bronze, silver and gold medal winners:

1. Leeds United (152 orders)

2. Cardiff City (136 orders)

3. Millwall (117 orders)

Bad news for some of the other established firms from back in the day that clearly have work to do. We’re looking for a big push in 2009 from the Birmingham Zulus, the Chelsea headhunters, the Stoke Naughty Forty, the Portsmouth 6.57 Crew and the West Ham Inner City Firm. Step your game up boys, you slipping.

Thanks to The Spoiler for the heads up and the ace Cardiff picture.

What’s Your Crew Blud?

Normally American sports teams either have awesomely stupid or stupidly awesome names. For every Marlins there’s an Avalanches, and for every Steelers there’s a Raptors. A Columbus, Ohio based MLS team have however just side-stepped the whole issue however by going for the blandly alliterative: Columbus Crew. If there was a Massachusetts Mandem, Pittsburgh Posse or Tennessee Thugs then we could probably laugh it off, but as is, it’s a bit rubbish.

West Ham’s faithful hooligan firm, the ICF, however clearly found that it registered on their radar. You see, the Hammers are over on the other side of the pond at the moment to play the undoubtedly underwhelming MLS All-Stars later this week, but decided to first cut their teeth against the Columbus based Crew. West Ham won easily, but the real highlight was a 100-man brawl that erupted in the stands. Presumably MLS teams don’t have firms, but the ICF, clearly spurred on by the team’s suggestive name, worked their way up to the infamous north-east corner of the ground where the Crew’s stronghold reportedly is.

A couple of prison shanks and Molotov cocktails later and 30 Hammers fans had been arrested, and presumably subject to America’s not-exactly-enlightened view of justice. When asked for a comment, manager Alan Curbishley quite amusingly offered only this soundbite:

“We took the MLS game because we wanted to come to America. We wanted to show people what we’re about.”

I honestly couldn’t have written a better joke myself Alan so thanks for that.

Nice one to The Spoiler for the top awesome photo.

Where to Watch Euro 2008 in London

As has been thrust down the throat of every sports page reader in the country, there will be no representation at Euro 2008 from the British Isles. This sad fact shouldn't hinder the fun to be had while watching the football, as plenty of nations with alcoholic tendencies are going to be playing and, well, drinking. Since STT is London based and lacking a team to cheer for, we thought it would be a good idea to go down the local tapas bar or bierkeller and soak up the atmosphere with a different bunch of national fans, but it turns out that a number of random pubs in town have nailed their colours to some very bizarre flagpoles:

Austria

Austrian fans will be found in their tens watching their team get their arse handed to them at The Crown and Two Chairmen on Dean Street, one of Soho's more notorious thoroughfares. Why the Austrians have chosen one of the better known pubs in Soho is not clear, but it's certain that they can get a cheery rub-and-tug in any of the adjoining flats offering 'new models'.

Croatia

Out of all the countries represented at Euro 2008, Croatia probably boasts the smallest expat community living in London. Their isn't a defined Croatian area of the capital, nor are there any clear Croatian bars, but one ex-Hammer may swell the ranks of Eastern Europeans moving to the East End - one Slaven Bilic. This is pure speculation, but it would be great to see the chain-smoking metal playing geezer in charge at Upton Park. You can join the locals down the Boleyn Tavern near the stadium, watch the game, talk about the great man and then meet the ICF!

Czech Republic

Where better to join the Czechs than in Bar Prague? It's in the heart of Shoreditch, where it's possible to get anything or anyone if you ask the right guy on the street!

France

If you fancy joining the French fans in cheering on sulky men, then head down to The Fulham Tup this weekend, which is right by the epicentre of French snootiness in West London - Stamford Bridge.

Germany

If it's some knackwurst that you fancy as you cheer on the bildesmannschaft, then the only place to go is the Bavarian Beer House on City Road, again in Shoreditch. Here, the wenches are buxom and the beers most quaffable.

Greece

Watching a game with Greeks is a bit like having electricity run through your gentials - it's an unpleasant experience, but some people love it. There are plenty of Greek places to enjoy the reigning champions play (expect to hear that fact over and over again) while drinking retsina and avoiding broken crockery, but The Real Greek in Clerkenwell is one of the classiest.

Italy

Where else could you support the Azzurri in London other than Bar Italia, on Frith Street in Soho? The Italian quarter in London is nothing compared to some cities, but so much is crammed into such a small space. The Nastro Azzuro will be flowing and the hand gesticulation will be massive, as seen by the incredible scenes here as Italy won the World Cup.

The Netherlands

If you want to watch the Netherlands play Italy on Monday night, but don't fancy joining the world cup holders, then head down to the Lord Wolsley on White Lion Street in Islington, where the Arsenal supporting landlord has converted his pub into the most orange place in the world.

Poland

A number of newspapers and organisations have suggested that Brits support Poland, due to the number of Poles living in the UK, making it the closest to a 'home side' at the tournament. A number of pubs around the capital will have a massive Polish element during games, but it's likely that the focus will be the Polo-Disney vodka haunt near Holborn called Na Zdrowie.

Portugal

Stockwell in South London is home to a large Portuguese community, numbering up to 27,000 people. There are plenty of great bars and eateries along the South Lambeth Road, but we recommend Cantinho de Portugal for food, football and Cristiano worship.

Romania

Romanians will undoubtedly flock to 32 Old Bailey, near Smithfield market for their games. This classy place should be rammed during all 3 of Romania's games in the tournament, as they struggle to qualify from the Group of Death.

Russia

Unless you're watching the game with an oligarch with a helicopter, there isn't much choice for a Russian supporting fan in London. The only true Russian themed bar in London is the cleverly named A10 on the A10 (The Kingsland Road in Shoreditch), where the vodka flows freely and the Soviet decor is dusty.

Spain

The hordes of Spanish tourists in London are an annual bain to anyone wanting to get anywhere, but they are tolerated, if not welcomed. Bradley's Spanish Bar just off Oxford Street is a pretty good place to watch a Spanish game, due to the fact that it gets so hot downstairs, it feels like you could cook paella in your pants.

Sweden

Swedish fans are always popular at international tournaments. STT was fortunate to be in Germany for the last World Cup, where we witnessed 3 hot Swedish ladies being eye-raped by a gaggle of crotch-grabbing Portugeezers who had only one thing on their mind. More strapping blonde nordic types can be found at the Harcourt Arms in Marylebone, which is heavily influenced by the nearby Swedish embassy.

Switzerland

There aren't an overwhelming number of Swiss expats in London, nor are there many Swiss bars. One place that will be showing all of Switzerland's games is the beautiful Swiss Church in Covent Garden, which has staged similar events before. Although it's not technically a bar, we believe God is a drinker and wouldn't mind you smuggling tins of fizzy hops juice into His house.

Turkey

God may be a drinker and millions of His flock consume his son every Sunday, but it's a fair assumption that Allah is teetotal. Even though Turkey is a Muslim country, it's not as dry as others, but there is still a lack of Turkish watering holes in the capital. There are plenty of top notch cafes, restaurants and kebab shops, though, so it's best to wander down to your local kebabby with a telly.

If anyone manages to visit all these venues during the tournament, they will have our greatest respect. Everyone needs a drinking challenge now that Jeff Stelling's off our screens.

Eyes Like Piss-Holes in the Snow

The Sun has printed a fantastic Lock, Stock-esque story involving Steven Gerrard, career ending threats from a mysterious man known awesomely only as “The Psycho,” and a Liverpuddlian gangster ‘fixer’ who supposedly saved the Scouse star. John Kinsella, 43, “sorted out” Gerrard’s little problem having been contacted by the player’s father Paul after The Psycho threatened to shoot Steven in the legs. This campaign of terror reportedly also included attempted extortion, the vandalism of Gerrard’s car, and also a terrifying chase home from training one night. The menacing threats stopped however when the underworld illuminati Kinsella was contacted by Paul Gerrard, and the former boxer and martial arts expert was said to have “put the frighteners” on The Psycho and presumably less-coolly-nicknamed pals.

The story broke during a court case this week, where Kinsella produced a letter from Paul Gerrard as a character reference, describing the “total respect” he and Steven have for the supposed mob ‘problem-solver.’

Printed in the newspaper today, the letter reads:

“I would like to say that in 2001 my son Steven was being terrorised by a notorious Liverpool gangster known as ‘The Psycho’ who was threatening to maim my son by shooting him in the legs. Also he was trying to extort a large amount of money from Steven. We immediately contacted the police and asked for protection. This went on for a long time, during which Steven’s car was smashed up and the gangster chased him while he was driving home from training. We were introduced by a friend to John Kinsella. John then reassured me and my family he would resolve our nightmare. We have never had any more problems from the Liverpool underworld. Steven and I have total respect for John.”

The case in question involves Kinsella (pictured) and three other men being accused of taking part in a £41,000 robbery of a haulage depot in Grantham, so by no stretch of the imagination is this guy Kinsella a modern day Batman. He does seem to have done the right thing here however, as no-one called The Psycho can be good news. Unsurprisingly Gerrard was unavailable for comment on this story, but since he appears to have not been shot in the legs, we can only assume that either this is all complete fabrication, or The Psycho and his friends have been ‘disappeared.’ Permanently.

The National Chelsea Front

It may not come as a surprise to some readers that a minority of Chelsea fans don’t like Jews. Some might say it’s a little backwards for one of the biggest clubs in Europe to still project a traditional English Christian ideology, especially given everything a certain Jewish Russian billionaire has done for them lately.

Now though the club themselves have got in on the act, genuinely having the audacity to ban all their fans of Greek origin for next week’s Champions League return clash with Olympiakos. Blues fans with Greek-sounding names trying to order tickets through the official channels, have been blocked, with the website simply saying the following: ‘non-members of a Greek nationality have been banned.’ Chelsea claim the ban was imposed at an executive level after “large numbers”of Olympiakos fans were suspected of using their club’s website to try to buy tickets in with the Chelsea fans. Quite where this intelligence came from is unknown, but it does mean that literally anyone wishing to buy tickets for next Wednesday clash at Stamford Bridge must now head down to the ground in person and show picture ID to be considered for allocation.

On paper though this still has the potential to be one of the great match-ups of the year next week in West London. No, don’t be stupid, not on the pitch, but in the parks and under the bridges throughout the area. We are of course talking about Chelsea’s famous Headhunter hooligan firm facing off against perhaps the most feared in Europe; the Olympiakos Gate 7 crew. Both sets of ‘supporters’ are the stuff of legend, with stories going back more than 50 years of cement-filled newspapers and sharpened steel-toe-caps. I for one cannot wait, it’s just a shame that Sky will insist on showing the crap that takes place on the pitch instead of the flaming bins and prison shankings that we all would much rather watch.

This whole incident begs the question of just who is next in the Blues witchhunt though; I wonder how they feel about gays and blacks? Maybe STT should help them cook up excuses to ban them from going to future games as well? I hear that gay people are the opponents of god, and well its pretty obvious that everyone of African descent is a thieving slave, so perhaps they should all just be locked underground somewhere? It must be nice living in the 19^th century; no diversity, no reality TV, and most attractively, the syphlitic wart that is Kerry Katona won’t be born for a good couple of hundred years yet…

The Adventures of Lord Tarquin Barney, The Gentleman Hooligan

Saturday, 14th of November, year of our Lord 1982. West Ham Away.

'I awoke this morning to the sound of my 1920s bespoke alarm clock and broke my fast with kedgiree. Travelling on the omnibus to the railway station, I met up with a tasty little crew of 10 fellow patrons of the Murderer's Arms, who were coincidentally also on their way to the game. We boarded the first train for Waterloo with minimal fuss and found the journey to be most agreeable, as I was lubricated by 6 pints of Kestrel Super.

On arrival at Waterloo, I was shocked to see a bevy of ICF waiting for us to appear. I took off my monocle as they came for us and shouted 'Egad, come and get some, you fiends!'. I clocked one fucker right in the teeth with the blackjack club I keep for such occasions. As we left the sorry vagrants in a heap on the concourse, I decided it would be a good show to micturate upon them and pinned my calling card to one chap's rump.

Travelling by First Class District Underground, me and my crew of salty gentlemen arrived at Upton Park with an hour and a half to extirpate before kickoff. We proceeded to venture down the local nuclear sub and forced one and all to imbibe gallons of Lamb's Navy Rum, with Sambuca chasers. Some time later, a regency era mahogany stool came flying trough the window of the hostelrey, showering my party in crystal and severely fucking us off. A small contingent of West Ham were the ones what done it and it was clear that they needed to be educated in the subjects of etiquette and manners. Where I come from, if a gent throws a stool at your head, it is only polite to turn it upside down and make him sit on it, along with 2 companions. I do not think they found this to be agreeable, as they made many threats against my wellbeing and that of my mother!

Our journey to the ground passed with minimum incident, as we were escorted by Her Majesty's Constabulary. Cheery locals shouted generous salutations to us as we passed by their hovels and we returned them in kind, along with bottles and half-bricks. The game was a tense affair, especuially when my good chum the Marquis of Seagullingham tried to storm the opposition's terrace sands companions. The most rapturous chant of the day came when the umpire dismissed one of our stalwart defenders, we questioned his parentage and threw sovereigns at him. It was a nil-nil draw, with more blood shed by each side than sweat and tears combined.

Post game, we returned to Waterloo via a sojourn in the West End, where we went on a knocking spree. Verily, I was upset when I ripped my finest pantaloons while I kicked in a window of Curry's on Tottenham court Road. I purloined 2 Betamax players and a ZX spectrum, but chucked them in the Thames for japes. As I sat in the swaying carriage, I thought about what a day it had been - one I would not forget. I thought as I fell asleep how West Ham would not forget it either, as they had been severely mugged off!!!

Lord Barney's stories of his Gentlemanly Hooliganism is syndicated to over 1,000 newspapers worldwide.

Football Fake

This week saw the premiere of possibly the greatest hour-long TV special ever made about the beautiful game. For those of you lucky enough to stumble across Sky Three at 9 the other night, the title of the show will be all too clear. For those of you as yet unenlightened, the program in question was ‘Football Fake.’ To quote Sky’s own on-screen TV guide, the program examined:

“How have a number of men have passed themselves off as professional footballers? Various managers have been fooled into signing fake footballers but how did they manage it?”

Of course this was the expose that we at STT have been waiting on for a couple of years now. Playing as a biography of Frank Lampard, the show charted his rise to the top of both the club and also International circuits through various pieces of stock footage and conjecture. It turns out that Frank actually created a fraudulent alias for himself, who acted on his behalf to contact various football clubs around the country and offer them fake certification of youth careers at a range of top flight sides.

West Ham United took the bait and before you can say “two pie, two chips, and you better make them both LARGE chips,” a contract was signed. Obviously in training it became quickly clear that Fat wasn’t actually a footballer, but to spare the board’s blushes, the young Lampard was fast-tracked to the first team and the media-hype machine started ominously spinning. Soon, other clubs heard how fantastic this new West Ham prospect was, and offers started to fly in without any of them actually ever seeing him play.

In an epic finale, the show went on to tell of that fateful night when Lampard’s move to Chelsea was agreed. One night all the chairmen of the London Premier League clubs got together for their monthly ‘scissors-paper-stone night’ and, not for the first time, former Hammers chairman Terry Brown had a little bit too much to drink and ended up spilling the beans about Lampard’s fake career. The uproar was immeasurable, with several of those chaps interested in buying him actually taking part in the game. So now no-one wanted Lampard; he had gone from the hottest property in London (aside from Keeley’s rack of course) to as unwanted as a dose of the clap. It was decided that the only way to settle this was to play for him, loser had to sign him.

15 rounds of scissors- paper-stone later and Mr Brown was shattered, barely holding on in the all-against-all tournament, but in an unforeseen show of bravado, decided to play ‘rock’ against Chelsea’s then-owner Peter Kenyon. The gamble paid off as Kenyon played ‘scissors.’ The screams could heard echoing throughout the night and it came as no surprise when he resigned shortly after, so humiliated at what he had inflicted upon his beloved club.

So now will action finally be taken? The world knows the truth. The metaphorical cat is out of the bag. Can someone please stop this clown ever playing professional football again please?

Mascot of the Week 7

Names – Bubbles and Herbie

Affiliation – West Ham United F.C.

Animal – Bubbles is apparently a bear (although looks more like a Japanese Manga-style cat) and Herbie is not actually an animal but rather a Hammer

Colour – Brown and Gun-Metal Grey respectively

Combined Level of Ridiculousness – 9 (they hug each other a lot…kind of a mixed message to kids)

Most common missile pelted with – Sharpened Danny Dyer DVDs

Distraction(from the hot Hammerettes dancing-girls at half time) Rating –10

For this week’s fantabulous Mascot feature, we have decided to focus on an interesting double act currently running riot in East London. Herbie the Hammer was introduced way back towards the club’s inception, presumably as a homage to West Ham’s history of originally being the Thames Ironworks company football team. Around the turn of the recent millenium, he was then joined by child-friendly ‘cuddle-monster’ Bubbles the Bear to form an unlikely duo, but one which has proved to be mildly popular with the home support.

Seen by some as a thinly-veiled reference to the I.C.F. hooligans’ weapon of choice, Herbie the Hammer has recently been at the centre of great controversy himself, culminating a vicious war of words with underwhelming ex-kids TV show wierdo Timmy Mallet. Herbie struck intellectual gold when he came up with the idea of seeing small foam versions of himself in the club shop, as something provocative for supporters to wave at the opposition, but the struggling Mallet prevented the club from following through after he claimed the toys bore too much of a resemblance to his own copyrighted ‘Pinky Punky’ toy. While preparing for yet another depressing Christmas spent doing cheap pantomime in Woking, Mallet offered the following comments: "Pinky Punky is a groovy hammer and that is part of my name. He is my trademark and he is what I do. It is important when you have something that is part of your life and livelihood, that you look after it." I couldn’t agree more Timmy, especially when you appear to be actually dating that special “part of your life.” It is on his left hand after all…

Bubbles was introduced as an antidote to the spiky Herbie, bizarrely drawing more interest from the club’s young fanbase than an oversized DIY tool. However, Bubbles too is plagued by his own inner demons. Kidnapped from the wild simply to fit in with the home support’s “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles” anthem, Bubbles had always dreamed of becoming dramatic actor, even getting a final audition for a part in Pixar’s 1999 movie ‘Toy Story 2.’ The dream was cut short by vicious poachers in Wisconsin however, and now Bubbles is forced to live in a basement at Upton Park, fed only caterpillars, and released into daylight only every other weekend on match day. It truly is a modern tragedy; word on the street was that he was going to be the next Hamm the Piggy Bank.